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An Empty Chair

“An Empty Chair” By  Pratiksha Misra From morning cereal, To an evening affair, What never was around, Was an empty chair.. From an angry state, To a cry for an extra bread to spare, What never was around, Was an empty chair.. From the fresh water fish, To the piping hot biryani, Served in a silver dish, From crying babies, To toddler care, From trying outs, To wedding outfits, What never was around, Was an empty chair.. From laughter roar, To midnight chuckles, From quieter score, To quilted giggles, From a spicy gravy, To sour taffy, From bitter to sweet, There was always dessert in the fridge, And a smiling nudge at the topmost layer, What never was around, Was an empty chair.. Now since you are gone, There is no winner at the dinner, No one asks what you would Like to eat, No one sits and repeats, How a dish tastes, It all ended too soon, How is that fair? That now instead of you, What we have is an empty chair.. *On this occassion of Thanksgiving, what my family craves for is ...

Stay

If you may..
As I say.
Lying under the pile of hay..
Hiding from the wrath of a sunny day.
Stay..
For there are promises to pay.
Stay..
For there was heaviness in your may.
Stay..
For a wanderer can loose his way.
Stay..
For all I know is loneliness is the actual prey.
Stay..
For an irreversible wait can delay..
Chaotic stains are kept just for display
Hands stretched out..
Until they give out a nervous prick.
Wounds left open.
Until they ease on their fatal stink.
This stay was never meant..
To follow the broken.
Good thing..
You never did stay.
As what’s left out..
Now is some ashes of your last smoke..
In this pale looking ashtray.

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